Did I Do Good?
by idiot-inator
Summary: Phil Lester is having night scares with murderous tendencies when he loves someone. First it is his mom. Then it's Dan? Violent Phan Trigger warnings for CH 2: Self-harm and death
1. Chapter 1

\- I don't own Dan nor Phil, but I have become addicted to their webshows. My continuing Wordgirl story is on hiatus as I delve into the strangeness that is owned by Dan and Phil. - .

When Phil was only seven years old, he had his first night scare. He had grown used to the tremors in the night, convulsing violently as his mother held him upright. She would massage his back gently and hum a soft lullaby. The nightmares had come and gone in his toddler years. He was no stranger to the terrors that shot him from his bed to a tangled, sweaty heap on the floor. Suddenly, at seven, his night scares began. He would black out in the middle of his dream. He would begin the day in the middle of the night.

Go to the bathroom, brush teeth, go downstairs for cereal. He would eat with a fork, staring into his bowl even as the metal scraped the porcelain. He wasn't supposed to touch it. That had been a rule, but night scares don't follow the rules. The scraping was what had alerted his mother. She had found him like this, mindlessly chomping on nonexistent food and scraping the bottom of the bowl. She had called his name, only for the bowl to drop and shatter, and her son to cut his tongue with the fork.

He hadn't noticed, though. His mind had been far too preoccupied. He continued to eat. He dug the fork across the wood table and still brought it up to his mouth to chew. Blood had started to spool out of his mouth. His mother had been terrified. She had reached out to help him, but he had leaped away from the contact, as if he would be burned. He had shoved the now bloody fork in his mother's direction.

When she had let out a scream, his had mimicked hers. Suddenly, he began to shake. He stabbed the table with the fork and his eyes had rolled back into his head. He bit down hard on his tongue and his mother had just enough time for it to click into her mind to hold him. She'd cradled him until he had stopped. He had then become unresponsive. Phil had been taken to the hospital and put under watch. It took eight hours for him to become responsive and two more to wake up.

He could still see the demons even after waking. But he had calmed down after only one extra hour. He had seen his mom and stress had evaporated. His heartbeat had returned to normal and he was later sent home. He doesn't have many night scares. He's never really had that many. After seven, his next was at twelve. His father had tracked them down. Phil didn't want anything to do with his father. He'd claimed he had changed, but Phil wasn't buying into it. After dinner the second night he'd come, the man had let his way into Phil's room.

Phil had faked being asleep. He's good at that. He's good at faking. His dad had climbed into bed with him and run a hand over his son's body. Phil resisted the urge to twitch at every stop, especially when the man had gotten lower. Eventually, the man had left him alone. When he had gotten home from school early the next day, he was almost hit by a flying plate. His dad was abusing his mom and Phil was terrified. His dad saw it in his eyes and laughed at him.

A lot of emotions had suddenly found their way surging through Phil's body. He suddenly regained many flashbacks of all the times his father had been abusive in the past. The man that caused all those nightmares in the past when he was so young and couldn't do anything. He was helpless. As quick as those flashes had occurred, they were gone. Phil could only see black. Darkness.

Then he opened his eyes. His father was across the room, alcoholic breath reeking through the area. He raised a hand to hit Phil's mother. She was almost collapsing already. She couldn't handle the full brunt of it, so Phil stepped in. His eyes were unfocused but his stride was strong. He was nowhere near the height of his brawny father, but that didn't matter. No one was allowed to hurt his mother. He loved her.

The man still held his hand raised and brought it raining down on Phil's face. His mother screamed but Phil wasn't paying attention. Scars were formed on his cheeks almost immediately. They would scratch and bleed but Phil couldn't feel it. He asked his father if he'd had enough and if he would leave them alone, but the man had said he wasn't done. That hadn't been a good answer.

Phil had reached up to touch his father's face, as if rekindling an old memory. Suddenly, he roughly snatched his father's hair, yanking him to his level. Phil spat in his face and slammed him against the cold kitchen table. He hit him repeatedly. His mother tried to stop him, but that had been futile. He had kept her at bay while fighting against his father and winning. For once, his father had actually been scared of him and it made Phil happy. He wouldn't know he was happy though. In this state, he didn't smile. There was no emotion. No expression written on his face. But half his expressions are faked anyway, so what is the use?

His father had been barely breathing when Phil had collected the large meat cleaver from beneath the cabinets. His mother had been crying heart-achingly but Phil couldn't be bothered with it. In this state, Phil only knew to be protective towards the ones he loves. At this point, he only loves his mother. There is no one else. That means others will have to be sacrificed. The meat cleaver had been brought down. Twice. Thrice and the man was dead. Phil had been monotonous, still he seeked approval.

"Did I do good, Mommy?"

Seeing her frightened face had done it. It had unraveled him. The meat cleave had stabbed his father once more and Phil's eyes rolled back. His mother hadn't been there to catch him that time. When she had been able to move, she could roll the man in the tablecloth and place him into a bin. She had time. She had set her son on the mattress on the floor and she had gone out to protect him.

When she had returned, it had been hours later. It was dark. He hadn't woken yet. It took a little less time for him to wake up. Instead of ten hours, it took six. It still took a full hour for the demons to disappear. She had told him that he had a gift and the gift sent his father away so he can never harm them again.

They had moved after that. They went to a completely other country. Another continent. He no longer had night terrors or even tremors. He had a slight nightmare every now and then, but it was nothing that couldn't be handled. His grades had risen nicely in his new town. He was accepted into a boys' private school, and as such he no longer lived with his mother. He still cared for her though, and the others would tease and call him a Mommy's Boy. When he was fifteen, he and another boy were caught kissing in the library.

The other boy was older and had played it off like a trick. Phil had become depressed and would lock himself away in the bathroom or up on the roof. He would inflict harm on himself, blaming himself for his actions. Blaming himself for how he felt. Blaming himself for wanting his mommy. Then he got a call. His mother had been in a terrible accident on her way to visit him. She had been in a coma. Despite the worry, the students had still teased him, saying he will never see his mother again.

Before the faculty could put an end to it, flashes had begun to happen. No one had stopped the bullies and now they were off about his mother. When she was injured. He could never see her again. He couldn't have that. He snapped. His eyes became unfocused and he had attacked. He clawed and bit, tearing into skin without a second thought. He fought his classmates, the ones who tortured him. He fought the teachers, the ones who urged him to stay in the school until one told him where to go.

He had left behind a massacre and gone to the hospital. He had walked in with his clothes ripped. Blood had been stained on his clothes and dribbling from his mouth, but he wasn't interested in that. He was fifteen and still in an unresponsive state. If a doctor had been near, they would notice he hadn't got much of a heartbeat. His breath is barely a sliver yet it is clear as day. Bold too. He isn't shaking, he is standing firm. He isn't a child, and he finds his mother's information on a computer that had been left unattended by the front desks. He had gone in restricted areas, not listening to protests.

No one could push him when he found his mother. No one could make him leave. He never ate, drank or even slept. He never sat. He would stand at her bedside, silently urging she would awaken still with no emotion written on his face. He would hiss at anyone who attempted to clean him, but he had allowed a feeding tube into his arm, since he couldn't be bothered to eat. A catheter at one point had to be attached, but Phil didn't mind. His only thoughts had been on his mother.

She finally woke eight days later. She could barely move but Phil could tell she was there. His mother was okay. She would be alive. He tried to smile, but he wasn't allowed. Not in this state. She had gasped seeing his face, seeing the dried blood stains and tattered clothes. She had tried to talk to him but there had been too many tubes in her mouth, so she only cried.

"Did I do good, Mommy?"

She tried to reach over to him and that was all he needed. He clamped his hand onto her bed, hard enough to nearly bend the metal. His eyes had rolled back and he had fallen. There had been no one to help him. His wrist had been severely broken in the fall, due to clamping it hard. His legs had broken as well and a scalpel had landed in his eye. A week and a half later, he was able to leave.

His mother too. She could walk but she would have to take it easy. He couldn't. With so many broken limbs, he would be confined to a wheelchair for a while. They didn't have any identification on them and they were Jane Doe and John Doe. At the school, they had known him as Michael Luster. They hadn't trusted the private school. Not one to keep him away. The school massacre made news and they were out. At eighteen, Phil was living with his mother again, now in yet another city. They were back in England, but not the same region.

He started YouTube. He started vlogging and lying to millions of people about himself. He knew he could fake it. He could even fake a lie. It isn't lying. It's faking a lie. When you fake a lie, you pretend to be rubbish at lying so others will believe that the lie you tell is untrue, when in actuality your lie is the truth. He is good at it. Making other believe what he wants them to believe. It works. They think he is a happy, bubbly personality.

He keeps lying to the others and soon he manipulates himself into thinking it too. He forgets about the doctors. He forgets about the massacre, about his father. He attends University and keeps with the Internet videos. He is no longer so attached to his mother. He forgets his gift. The nightmares stop. He can breathe. He can live again. He finds a troubled boy four years younger than him. He reaches out and soon, he meets the boy. Dan. Dan meets Phil's mother and the boys move in together.

After only two years of living together, Phil's priorities shift. Dan now comes first. Dan is first, he has decided and nothing can persuade him from the fact. Dan comes first in Phil's life. In Phil's love. Phil realizes the familiar feeling. He is falling for Dan. This is more than the boy at the library. Phil remembers the massacre. Phil remembers the doctors. Phil remembers his father. Phil remembers the darkness.

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\- more will come from this. I love these people right now. And I love you all for reading. - 


	2. Chapter 2

-hi, I still don't own Dan or Phil, but I think it is definitely worth mentioning: "HAPPY BIRTHDAY, PHILLY! The Amazing Phil Lester turns 30 today! Wuuuuutttt!? And he must be PHILed with DANtermination (don't own that either; took it from a YouTube comment from their Undertale videos.) Thank you, OtakuMadchen, for reviewing my last chapter. Here is more 'Did I Do Good?' Enjoy.

-.

PHIL'S POV

I haven't been sleeping well lately. It takes me a while just to fall asleep, but I lie awake in my bed with my memories. At first, I would pace, but Dan could hear me and he would ask the next morning. Genuine. So innocent. So, I've stopped that. I don't want to be alone with my memories, so I listen to my music. I realize, though, my memories are still there. Through the Muse, My Chemical Romance, what have you. It doesn't work. It doesn't take away the feeling.

I want to be with Dan always. We joke around with each other a lot. We eat breakfast together and watch anime snuggled on the couch together. But my mask is slipping. Just because Dan hasn't noticed yet doesn't mean a thing. No, it means I can hold onto him a little longer. Until he starts acting questions. Then he'll be repulsed and look away. He'll move out and they might start again. They'll take me away.

I have no control of myself when I am in that state. If Dan breaks me, do I have the power to end his life? If my out-of-state mind would force me to destroy all of that troubled man's happiness, my in-state mind I'm sure will lead me down the path to my own execution. There is no way I could live without him in my life. He thinks it is all just a show. Just something we put on for the fans. Never.

The music at my side breaks me from my reverie. 8:21. I actually slept maybe an hour this time. I don't even remember when I went to sleep, though. Or Dan. It's time to get out of bed, though. Always the same routine. Go to the bathroom, brush teeth, go to the kitchen for cereal. I don't want cereal, though. My brain tells me I do and I eat Dan's without thinking. I empty it into my mouth and he yells at me. I hide in my shell and I have to remind myself that Dan isn't my father. He isn't going to hit me. He won't stay mad at me for something trivial for long.

DAN'S POV

8:30. Phil's making breakfast again. This is the fifth day in a row he's woken up before me to cook a breakfast. I'm not saying it's a bad thing. It's just, I'm used to getting down there, waiting ten minutes and we eat some cereal while we sit on the couch. It hasn't been like that in a while. A week ago, I caught him three times pacing in his room. Each morning after I would ask him about it, but he would brush me off and change the subject. This isn't normal.

I like to mess around with him. We're close. I'm closer to him than I have ever been with anyone. He truly saved me the day we met. Now I want to save him. I want to save him from whatever is making him act less like himself. He is AmazingPhil. He has the soft fringe opposite mine. He is really blind as a bat and has different colored contact lenses that he mixes up for fun only around me. Sometimes he wears glasses, even though he doesn't like them but I really do.

He ate my cereal again the other day. He was listening to his music through his headphones and he was pouring the cereal down into his mouth. He's done this before and I've caught him. Before, he would drop the food and go sit in the corner. I'd yell a little but it'd only be half-hearted before I'd clean off the bed somewhat and lead him into the living room where we'd play video games and take our minds off it. I know he's a sensitive person and I don't want to hurt him.

The other day, though, something had changed. He was on his bed again. Listening to his music and pouring down the cereal. I had caught him like I normally did with a quick yell about how he had his own cereal. His eyes had locked on mine for the first time and I was a bit taken aback. His eyes were blue and gray, clouding up in fear? And anger, I think. The cereal was dropped and the earbuds were yanked out. Instead of the corner, he dove under the bed.

I climbed across the bed, but he had rolled out by the time I got there. He had raced out of the room before I could do anything and he ran to his room. I tried to get him to come out, but he had kept the door locked, which is unusual. We don't really lock the doors in our apartment. Sometimes we even forget the bathroom. Doesn't matter. We've walked in on each other quite a few times and I like to play video games in the nude. I've discovered he does as well. It doesn't affect our friendship.

Of course, it sets me in my mind that I am attracted to the guy. He was my first real celebrity crush, after all. Of course I like him like that. I can't tell him though, because he is so sensitive. It scares me how sensitive he is sometimes. I haven't seen him playing video games naked here lately. He's been wearing long-sleeved shirts despite how nice the weather has been lately. But he wears his glasses. Yes, I like them, but he doesn't and he wears them a lot.

PHIL'S POV

"Whatcha cooking for us today?"

Dan's voice scares me from around the corner. I had been flipping pancakes, but the quiet hadn't been the best. Neither had the voice. I jolted. The pan went flying and the grease got on me. It burns. I can't let Dan see though. I can't let him see what I've done. I know that I shouted and I know he's racing in to see. But I'm faster. I'm taller. I'm stronger. I rush past him and lock myself in the bathroom.

I hear Dan, just as I could feel him. I had taken him off-guard, buzzing past like that. I think I may have shoved him into a wall, judging by the thud I heard after. I try not to think of that and just focus on my reflection. I got some grease in my hair, on the side of my face, along my wrists and the rest is on my clothes. Clothes, I can change in a snap. Wrists, they sting, and it'll take some time to doctor those. Time I don't have. I can, just, I don't care about my hair. So what? It's greasy.

"Phiiiiiiiiiiiil!"

It seems Dan's discovered the kitchen. This is my moment. I shoot out, not looking, heading for my bedroom. Just as I reach the knob and am fully intent on locking myself in there, there is a tug. I hadn't been quick enough. Dan hadn't been in the kitchen when he called. I cower slightly, involuntarily. For a split second, he loosens his grip. I think I've got a chance and I try to wrench myself away, but unfortunately he catches on.

Dan grips my shirt and I purposely fall. I drop to the floor, shrugging my shirt off. He isn't sure what I'm doing, judging by the look on his face. Soon as I drop, I shield my arms to my chest. The last touch had been when he tried to hold on by my wrists, but the thought was unbearable and I let out a gasp, enough to let him leave me alone. I half-  
crawl, half-roll into my room and see him coming after me. So, I quickly slam the door in his face and lock it.

DAN'S POV

"Phil! Dammit, are you sick? What are you doing?"

I slam my fists on the door for a couple more minutes. I now know it is useless, but I wish Phil would let me in. He does things a little off lately and I try to talk to him. In the end, he looks as if he is ready to cry and I want to patch things up. I take him to the living area and we sit on the couch together, to play video games and forget about the whole incident. I don't think this one will be so simple.

He's really locked himself in there and I'm stuck in the hall with his shirt that smells faintly of grease. There is grease in the kitchen and half-made pancakes in the floor. I think our pan broke our microwave. I think he might be mad at me for something, but I honestly can't think of what it could be. Our lives are pretty average. I mean, he wraps his arms around me when we're filming and I shove him away, but that's just an act, right? Shit, am I actually hurting his feelings doing that?

That's it! That's what I need to do. Forget breakfast. I need to make a live show and I need to get Phil to come out here for it. Then, he can drape around me and I'll put up with it and he won't feel bad anymore. He won't be mad anymore. He'll be back to the same happy Philly. Err, Phil.

I send out a tweet, saying I have an urge for a YouNow, telling the fans to get their questions ready. I get dressed and grab my llama hat before knocking on Phil's door again. It isn't as desperate. I've calmed down. At least on the surface. If I can lie to a ton of fans that I'm fine and I just want to livechat, then surely I can convince Phil, right? I go for it, knocking and calling until I hear a small shuffle and Phil's voice.

PHIL'S POV

"Phil? You wanna come out? I'm about to do a livechat and I was wondering if you'd like to do it with me?"

He wants to livechat with me? In the morning? Well, he isn't always predictable. And this is better than video games to drown out the feeling. I wrap the razor back in my proper socks, shoving them to the back. I shut my dresser drawer and grab a Yoshi Hoodie the one with clamped sleeves.

"Okay."

My voice is soft and I am disappointed in how weak I sound, but he doesn't pressure me. Another thing I love about him. He waits until I open the door and he smiles to me gingerly. I shove my hands into the kangaroo pocket and follow him to his room. He has to set his things up and I stand awkwardly in the doorway. Normally, I would rush over to help, but I just can't. Not now. This might be the thing to help.

Only twenty minutes in and Dan is already terribly domestic. He is recounting our living together in a happy, upbeat manner as he addresses our fans. I smile and laugh along. Inside, my laughter is hollow but I know how to pretend. I know how to make it sound real. And convincing. Part of me wants to grab the blanket we're sitting on. Just jump up and grab it. Wrap myself up in it and breath in his scent. Just take it with me to my room. And hide in the wardrobe.

Of course I won't. For one reason, I'm in front of a camera, shedding my scales to a world of millions. Or at least thousands that are awake this early. I'm not very hungry despite not eating anything today. Another part of me wants to embrace Dan. Just hug him and hold him. Latch myself onto him and start a tickle war. No matter who would win, I would end up on top. I would lead him into submission, lean over and kiss him. But it is because I love him that I cannot do this.

DAN'S POV

It is 10:30. Thirty minutes into the livechat and the fans are excited we are answering their questions. They've asked Phil a few, but he had only mumbled a small excuse of his throat being sore. The fans don't seem to mind, some wishing him a well recovery. The questions are mostly focused on me, with a bit of phan thrown in for both of us. I laugh at a few things and I see Phil move beside me. But it isn't what I think.

I am sitting here, expecting Phil to start loving on me. I am expecting him to throw his arms around me or lean on me for rest. There is no little laugh, that little giggle I love when he sticks his tongue slightly out of the side. None of that. Instead of moving closer, he wobbles a little and scoots away. Not far and he is still in frame, but that small movement breaks my heart a little.

Doesn't he trust me anymore? Then I see his pout. I don't let on and I keep talking to my fans, our fans, as if nothing has just happened. That isn't his snarky little pout he gives me when he craves attention. It is a stormy pout I've never seen on his face before. I feel a twist in my chest as he stares around me and at the scroll line, like he is uncomfortable. Like he doesn't want to be around me. He won't even look me in the eyes.

PHIL'S POV

Forty-five minutes in. Only fifteen minutes left of playing pretend. Then I can leave. This isn't working. Not at all. I need to leave the house. If we weren't in front of a growing crowd at the time, I would leave now. I really love him, but this is only making it harder for me to breathe. This close proximity while I can feel the other side scraping at me from within is slowly driving me insane. I keep up the appearance, though. I'm tough. I've been through a lot. I can do this.

What if the fans see me slipping? Can I hold over? Can this hold over? Or will I fold? This isn't fair. Inside, I am wiping away bawling tears. Outside, I laugh a bit to prove to the fans and Dan that I am still here. I am here and willing for questions. I need something to take my mind away. Before I do something I will later regret. Then I get distracted. By something so minuscule on many scales, but so incredibly huge on mine. A Phillips screwdriver. It's like a blade, how it's made. I can't help but wonder how it would feel against my soft skin.

DAN'S POV

There's not much longer of this. Less than ten minutes. Am I ready to face Phil now? With just the two of us and no audience? I don't think the fans have noticed my nervousness. Good. I haven't asked any questions since Phil told them he had a sore throat. I know that's a lie and I find it strange how well he told it. He's usually rubbish at telling lies. This must be really important. What did I do to him?

I tap the camera slightly to move it around. I play it off as just another gimmick and I move into frame, sitting closer to Phil once more. He stiffens. The phan community doesn't notice, though. They're too excited about phan proof. But this, Phil stiffening beside me, truly scares me. What did I do to make him afraid? To make him angry at me? Does he think I'll hurt him? That I'll start hitting him when the camera goes off? I know we need to talk when this goes off, but maybe it doesn't need to end right away.

PHIL'S POV

Okay, I can do this. I can do this for the fans. I can do this for the fans. I can do this for the fans. There is only a couple minutes left. Enough for one more question, probably about phan, and Dan to laugh it off. I can do this for the fans. I can do this, wait. What the hell? He's got the screwdriver in his hand. It isn't gripped, just kind of sitting there in his palm, as the other dims the light a little. Then he's talking. Wait, this isn't a goodbye.

"You all know by now, this is where I would normally drop you off. But, if you want to hang around a while longer, it's still early. So I don't see any reason why this couldn't extend another fifteen minutes."

The fan feeds are alive again. I notice but I don't care. Fifteen? No, I cannot do this anymore. I am going to break down if I have to sit beside him in silence for another fifteen seconds. I quit this. I am out of here. Before I realize it, I've snatched the screwdriver from him and I am bolting for the door. From the corner of my eyes, I see his eyes follow me. I hear his shouts, but they fade as I run down the stairs. I throw my hood up and feel around in my pockets. No keys, no phone. But I've got the screwdriver clenched in my fist and nearly fifty pounds in my pants pocket. I stuff my fists into the kangaroo pocket and bolt into the alleyways.

DAN'S POV

What the hell even was that? Well, so much for my great plan of keeping him in so we can talk. I don't even feel like continuing the livechat. I know I've just let down the hopes of many fans, but I just can't do it anymore knowing Phil is mad with me. I turn away from the doorframe and face my crowd.

"Sorry about that, but looks like I'm cutting short after all. Hope you understand. Bye for now."

Phil, where are you going? He's left everything behind. I'm sure he just needs time. He'll probably just go out for a couple hours. Grab some coffee, maybe get some Chinese takeaway. He'll be back soon. It is eleven now. He'll be back by two. Maybe three. I'm sure of it. I'm not all that hungry. For now, I suppose I'll just entertain myself and have some Ribena while I play some Sonic.

PHIL'S POV

I have alcohol in my system now. And second-hand smoke, trudging down the bad streets of town. I've been wandering for hours, hoping to cool this inferno in the pit of my tummy. No such luck as of yet and it is nearing five o'clock. I suppose it is a tad chilly out, but I hardly notice. I have little money. Enough for cab fare. The drinks have hardly helped now that the emotionless state is only chasing me farther into the ground. I want to curl into a ball in the shadows and just let myself cry. But if I do that, I might cry myself to sleep. I can't sleep, because if I do, it'll just overcome me faster and easier.

"Sorry, mate."

My thoughts are interrupted and I am cast aside by a random, wobbling stranger in the darkened alley. I've been taking only alleys and I haven't got much of a snack today. I mutter something incoherent to show my acknowledgement of the apology as I subconsciously search my front pocket. The money is gone. All I had was a five, but that single act of thievery is nearly enough to set me completely off. That bastard.

"Oi!" I turn smartly on my heel, calling after the man.

The least I can do, I suppose, is give him a chance to come clean. He stops as though he's been defeated, and relief pumps through my system. That disappears all too quick when I spot that nasty smirk. He's holding out the chump change and my stride is quick. I have my arm extended to grasp the money, but he snatches it away, acting much too cocky for his own good.

"Give. It."

My voice turns stone cold and my eyes are ablaze. I take secret pride when he backs away a bit, realizing he's pushed me too far. I hadn't wanted to fight, but this may be my chance. My chance to give in. He has no intentions of handing back the money, but it isn't about a five any longer. I bare down onto his shoulders and back him against the rear of a large dumpster bin. I need him for balance as I transfer to my other self. My darker self.

I feel him try to move as my eyes become unfocused. I don't fight it as I pull him close. Close enough that he can drink in my alcoholic breath when I promise that I will meet him in Hell. I would too, if I believed in that sort of thing. But I'm not that religious. If I was religious, I wouldn't have this thing inside of me. He struggles to run off as I thrust him against the dumpster. The sheer impact of his skull against the cold metal helps better my anger.

I can see the fear in his eyes. I hardly hear the taunts. The desperate taunts one gives when he knows his life is over. Calling me a monster. He tries calling for help but merely succeeds in biting into my flesh. I feel nothing at this point. One arm bares against his teeth as I crush him against the bin, shying away from any others' view. It lulls his brain like chloroform. So he can fall into a false sense of security beneath a blanket of sleep. My other hand holds the screwdriver.

I am able to enact my aggressions as I plunge my weapon of choice through his flesh. Again and again and again. I let him fall repeatedly, eventually dragging him into an old warehouse. It was searched, if I recall, only a couple days ago. I know the types who stay here. Well enough for it to be easy enough to locate a pit and the means for creating myself a fire. A fire to destroy the evidence of the life I have taken. He awakes just as I've placed him in the pit. I've lit the match and am holding it above him as I ask the crucial question.

"Did I do good, Stranger?"

His shout triggers me to my old self. Upon doing so, the match falls.

DAN'S POV

I am desperate now. I've tried playing video games. I've tried watching an anime. By four, I knew something was wrong. I had to barge into Phil's room to find something. Anything. There's blood on his duvet. I don't know how it's there or why, but it scares me. On the edge of his bedsheets, I've also found some blood. Is he hurting himself because of me?

It's past nine now. He's been gone for over ten hours. Almost ten-and-a-half. I regret anything I've ever done to make Phil uncomfortable. I regret anything I've ever done that would make him want to hurt himself. That would make him want to stop talking and run away. Phil could very well be bleeding out in a ditch in the middle of the bad part of town while I was trying to beat a high score in a bloody video game.

Phil saved me once. I'd like to return the favor. I've got my flat keys on me and enough money for a cab ride home. I've never really explored the dangers of London in the nighttime. Not since I was a foolish kid. That's been years ago. Phil is extremely emotional and he could break down. It would be unsafe for him to breakdown, especially out here somewhere. Phil is my friend, my best friend, my only true friend.

Time Skip

I have been walking around aimlessly for almost two hours now. I don't even know if I am traveling in the right direction. What if Phil is back home by now? I don't have my phone. Didn't think to bring it. What am I going to do if I wander too far and get lost? What am I going to do if Phil needs medical attention when I get to him? What if I get mugged and can't find a way to get to him?

Suddenly, the wind is knocked out of me. I am thrust against the side of a brick wall and there is a cold blade against my throat. A gravely voice demands I hand over money. He tosses my keys away. I don't see where. Then a second pair of hands reaches into my pockets. One hand collects the money, but the other hand slowly drifts out of my pocket and into my jeans. They've got me against a wall in an abandoned space. I try to kick, but I know it is useless. One is lifting me up. He is a lot more muscular and taller than I ever will be.

He lets the other one feel me up. I freeze up and he doesn't like it. I can't hear what he's saying, but the gruffer one gives me a blow or two. It hurts, my stomach. He kicks my legs too. Maybe so I won't try to run. One of them slaps me across my face, but I can't tell which. I feel violated and I feel like crying. Suddenly, the weight is gone and I crash to the pavement.

PHIL'S POV

That hadn't solved anything. I'm not even fully back. I'm partially here, but so is my other side. I'm singed a bit. I left him back there, writhing in pain. Maybe someone will help him. Or put him out of his misery. I don't care. He meant nothing to me, so it solved absolutely nothing. Then I see it. Two men roughing up a particularly attractive man. As I advance in the shadows, I see it is not just any man, but my Dan. I don't even know when it stopped being me.

I grab the taller one. He is taller than me and much more muscular. But muscles mean nothing. I pull him away hard. He topples over and I hear his head crash. I see Dan fall to the ground in a heap. I want to help him, so console him, but I am emotionless at the moment. I need to kill. I need to protect Dan. My Dan. I still have my screwdriver and into the eyes of the taller man it goes. I wrench out one eye, tossing it into the gutter.

When I attempt for the other, he rises with a yell. I waste no time in plummeting my blade replacement into his throat. And his heart. His heart stops beating and I consider my job done. I slice into his chest one last time and carry the tool over to where my Dan lie in pain. The other hadn't left, still scooping out his prize, perhaps offering a share. I am having none of it.

"What the fuck are you doing, you little shit?"

My voice is much more haunted than before as I pick the man up by his scrawny neck. He is maybe up to my shoulders and is much skinnier. He shouldn't be out on the streets, but I have no compassion. He was after my Dan. He was going to rape my Dan and let the ogre kill him. No, that will not happen as long as I am around. With this in my mindset, I use my trusty screwdriver to dive into his chest and carve a rusty hole.

He begs for mercy as Dan awakes for real. I know he's seen what is happening, though I cannot be certain he really knows. My prey tries to crawl away, but I reach into the hole and I rip out the vital organ keeping him alive. I have no use for it, but to know Dan is safe. This ensures it. I crawl over to Dan, myself already attempting to break through. He blinks, but he cannot focus.

My voice is sharp, but I need an answer to return. "Did I do good, Danny?"

"Phil?"

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This is a little stranger than the first, I am aware. Please let me know if you liked. ?  



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